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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892063">Woodward and Bernstein</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21'>Ladybug_21</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Broadchurch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brexit, Gen, Journalism, Mentors, Watergate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:27:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Olly Stevens gets an education in journalistic integrity. (Set mostly between Seasons 2 and 3, and a little post-canon.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maggie Radcliffe &amp; Olly Stevens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Woodward and Bernstein</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Needless to say, inspired by that brief and hilarious exchange in Season 1, Episode 6 ("God, I hate the young!"). And sort of a sequel to a pre-canon <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731261">backstory</a> that I wrote about Maggie taking Olly under her wing at <em>The Echo</em>. As per usual, I own no rights to <em>Broadchurch</em>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Olly really was grateful that Maggie put on such a brave face throughout the whole process of his leaving Broadchurch.  He had known, on some level, how difficult his departure would be for his editor, and not simply for reasons of logistics.  Despite his impulsive nature, Olly uncharacteristically stood outside Maggie's office door for a solid minute, before finally knocking and somewhat sheepishly announcing that one of his applications had worked out, and that he'd been asked to relocate to Liverpool to start at the local office of <em>The Indy</em>.</p><p>"That's <em>wonderful</em>, Olly!" Maggie exclaimed, beaming at him.  "See, all that hard work paid off after all, didn't it!  I can't wait to hear all about it, of course.  You <em>will</em> come back and visit us, I hope, whenever you're in town?"</p><p>Typical Maggie, to be all genuine smiles and positivity, cheering him on for pursuing his dreams.  But Olly caught her brush a tear from the corner of her eye, as he closed the door behind him after basking in all of her accolades.</p><p>His last few weeks at <em>The Echo</em> were filled with the expected chaos of tying up loose ends, shuffling projects to coworkers, forwarding unanswered emails to people who might answer them in the future.  Olly's mum, chuffed that her son was finally off to go make good on his education in pastures new, decided to throw a huge farewell party for him, and Olly was touched at how many people came by to wish him well, over the course of the afternoon.  Auntie Ellie brought Tom and Fred, predictably; she also brought along DI Hardy, who looked as if he couldn't see the back of Olly soon enough (but, to be fair, Olly suspected that DI Hardy looked that way at most people).</p><p>Maggie, of course, arrived early and stayed until the end, catching up with virtually everyone who came by.  She offered to help Olly's mum clean up afterwards, but Lucy Stevens insisted that she could manage on her own (which Olly certainly hoped she could).  Generous impulses rejected, Maggie was about to head home when she turned on her heel on the doorstep.</p><p>"Almost forgot," she muttered with a slight laugh at her forgetfulness.  "Tracked down a copy of this for you.  I imagine you won't have much spare time, as you're settling in, but give it a read someday, will you?"</p><p>She handed Olly the package that she had just pulled from her bag and watched him with a bittersweet smile as he tore off the wrapping paper.</p><p>"Thanks, Maggie," he said, turning over the hardcover book in his hands.</p><p>"There's a film, as is always the case these days, I suppose, but you should <em>read</em> the story," she told him.  "All sorts of detail in there that couldn't be squeezed into two hours, naturally.  And they were journalists at the top of their game, you'll learn something just from how they write."</p><p>"Who are they?" Olly asked, flipping to the back flap of the dust jacket.</p><p>Maggie grinned.</p><p>"Not Morecambe and Wise, petal, I'll tell you that much," she said, and she stepped forward to give him a hug before she finally left.</p><hr/><p>The book ended up on Olly's nightstand, then in one of the many boxes that he packed.  Not until a month after he had moved to Liverpool did Olly notice the card tucked beneath the front cover the book.  He tugged it free and smiled when he saw his name in Maggie's familiar scrawl on the envelope.</p><p>
  <em>Olly,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Telling the truth is a dangerous business.  I don't need to tell you that journalists in other countries are frequently targeted, and sometimes even killed, for asking the questions that need to be asked and writing the stories that need to be written.  You have to be in this profession for the right reasons, and when the going gets tough, you have to hold tight to integrity of some sort.  I know that you have that integrity already, but I'm hoping that this story will remind you why it's so necessary, whenever you begin to doubt yourself or feel like you're continuing on in this field for the wrong reasons.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Watergate broke when I was a very young journalist, fresh out of uni.  It's hard to capture how we all felt back then, watching the press tell truths that were important and dangerous enough to bring down a corrupt and very powerful head of government.  But my hope is that this book will capture some of that for you.  If nothing else, you'll learn some history that you really should know already.  (And, by the way, if you tell me that they taught you more in school about William the Conqueror than about Richard Nixon, then so help me, an exposé on the god-awful priorities of British education may well be in order.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Everyone needs a lodestar in their professional life—someone who can serve as a source of inspiration and make you want to be the best that you can at what you do.  Woodward and Bernstein were and still are two of mine.  Whether or not they become two of yours, I hope that you find your own lodestars soon as you embark on this next stage of your career.  I and many others will be wishing you the very best of luck as you do.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Maggie</em>
</p><p>Olly smiled and stuffed the card back into the envelope to use as a bookmark.  Then, rather than slide the book onto his bookshelf to languish alongside so many other books that had been given to him as presents over the years, he sat down on his recently constructed IKEA sofa and flipped open <em>All the President's Men</em>.</p><p>He was over eighty pages in before he noticed the hour and remembered with a jolt that he had work the next morning.</p><p>Olly had never considered that journalism could dovetail so neatly with novelistic prose.  In his experience, reporting the news had been all about the soundbite, the short and snappy column that would grab the reader's attention and deliver the news quickly and efficiently.  For all he'd heard about the news being the 'first rough draft of history', Olly had always presumed that that draft would remain in rough form so long as it was still held by journalists—impressionistic bursts of fact and emotion, to be teased apart and stitched together by academics or artists, who mined yellowed paper and smudged font for some sense of what things were like in the precise moment.</p><p>Here, though, history was told with the continuity and intrigue of a spy novel, the confusion and revelations following each other with the fresh immediacy of the front page.  Olly could understand quite easily why Maggie was enthralled by the events as they unfolded historically; even knowing how things ended, he still found it hard to put the book down in the evenings.  And yet the narrative had the inevitability of an old, repeated tale—of brave heroes on a dangerous quest, aided by mysterious presences, persevering despite warnings from powerful interests threatened by their integrity.</p><p>Olly wasn't used to seeing reporters portrayed as trusted, beloved heroes.  It kindled within him some private inspiration that had lain dormant since he was a child.  Perhaps, if he stopped thinking only about his own advancement forward in the world, he could do his small part to help make it a better, more truthful place.</p><p>"Haldeman," Olly answered automatically when a pub quiz asked who Nixon's Chief of Staff had been.</p><p>"You sure?"  The girl sitting across the table from him raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm sure," Olly grinned back.</p><p>He was right, of course.  His team won on the question.  The girl—a dimpled Singaporean Liverpudlian named Amanda—laughed when she saw <em>All the President's Men</em> on Olly's nightstand, later that evening.</p><p>"Not just dumb luck, then?" she grinned at him.</p><p>Within three months, they'd moved in together.  Some time after that, it occurred to Olly that he should thank Maggie for having facilitated this fortuitous turn of events.  But the local politics beat kept work busy, and the rest of life somehow was even busier.  And then, all of a sudden, the world started falling apart at the seams.</p><hr/><p>Broadchurch was always particularly gusty in December.  Olly knew this, and yet he somehow had forgotten to bring something that would shield him from the wind.  When Maggie saw that he was shivering, she bustled him into a coffee shop and bought him some tea.</p><p>"I'm the one who still has a job, though," he pointed out.</p><p>"Oh, shut up, Oliver," said Maggie fondly, pouring milk into his teacup.  "How <em>have</em> things been?  God, I can't believe it's only been about a year since you left.  Feels like several centuries longer."</p><p>Olly nodded in agreement.  It had been quite the year for everyone he knew.</p><p>"Well, they seem to like me," he shrugged.  "Still mostly picking up slack for other people, as the newest reporter they have.  But they're beginning to let me pick up my own stories, at least."</p><p>"I've seen."  Maggie sat back and smiled at her former protégé.  "If you think I haven't set up a Google Alert for anything with your name in the byline, then you clearly underestimate my willingness to figure out how to set up a bloody Google Alert.  You're writing some really quality material, petal.  I hope you're very proud."</p><p>"Learned from the best," Olly grinned sheepishly, but then his grin faltered.  "Jesus, Maggie, I really am sorry that I didn't reach out, back when I heard..."</p><p>"Don't apologise, Olly."  Maggie brushed the offence away with a flick of her wrist.  "It was a long time coming.  And at least I had a good, long career in the industry proper.  I'm just glad that you're managing to survive the corporate behemoth."</p><p>"Still."  Olly stirred his tea moodily.  "I can't imagine the newsroom of <em>The Echo</em> without you, I really can't.  Besides, everyone says the reporting's gone to shit since you were sacked."</p><p>"I was not <em>sacked</em>, thank you very much," scoffed Maggie.  "I <em>quit</em>.  With great dignity.  There's a difference, you know."</p><p>Olly stared at her sceptically while she sipped her tea.</p><p>"All right, fine, maybe without much dignity," she conceded after a moment.  "But I did get to tell my smug-faced, anti-feminist, bratty little Millennial of a boss what I thought of her, before I went.  And I <em>did</em> quit.  And, what's more, I still don't blame you for not reaching out.  I can only imagine what the newsrooms must have been like, in late June."</p><p>Olly nodded.  Too many sleepless nights to count, interviewing people on the streets about how they'd voted on the referendum, scanning the internet for any new statements by Party leadership or by EU officials, watching in amazement as the Prime Minister announced his resignation whilst literally singing a little tune to himself.  It all had seemed unreal, like some sort of massive social experiment that someone on TV would eventually announce was over, so everyone could go back to their normal lives.  But then, only a few months later, the second half of the nationalism one-two punch landed across the Pond.  By this point in the shit year that was 2016, Olly was less dazed than just exhausted.</p><p>"I'd been meaning to thank you," he said suddenly.  "I've been seeing someone for the better part of the past year, fairly seriously.  And I'm not sure she would have given me the time of day, if not for you."</p><p>"Oh?"  Maggie leaned forward, eager to hear this gossip play out.  "Well, go on, no need to be so cryptic.  What sage advice have I ever given you to help you win the hearts of nice young Liverpudlian women?"</p><p>"Just a solid primer on an important political scandal of the twentieth century."  Olly smiled impishly.  "Turns out that name-dropping H.R. Haldeman at a pub quiz will drive some girls wild."</p><p>Maggie's grin grew even broader.</p><p>"Ooh, I like the sound of this one already," she said.  "Good for you, Olly, and I'm so glad it's working out.  Bring her back to Broadchurch sometime, if it's that serious, so we all can meet her."  She paused.  "And, by the way, it means quite a lot to me that you read the book.  Be honest, did you like it?"</p><p>"I couldn't put it down," Olly said truthfully.  "And frankly, I think you've given me a leg up at work.  Loads of my colleagues have decided I'm an official expert on presidential impeachment, and since November, they've started dropping by my desk to ask me questions.  Almost makes me feel like I should be taking thorough notes on everything, so I can write my own book about all this, one day."</p><p>"Mmm, might not be a bad idea."  Maggie eyed Olly critically.  "You know, times have always been perilous, for one reason or another, but it looks like they'll be taking a sharp turn for the worse, in the near future.  Now's the moment when you and your colleagues in the industry will have to be braver and louder and more truthful than ever before.  Are you ready for all of it, petal?"</p><p>Outside, the weak winter sun was already setting on one of the few remaining days of the year.  Olly knew that 2017 was bound to dawn as grim and relentless as its predecessor had been.  The old Olly, whose goal was to see his name at the top of every big story, wouldn't have been ready.  But the new Olly, who had been reminded of the unique duty owed by a journalist to the public, somehow was.  And for this brief moment, seeing the trust and pride with which Maggie gazed at him from across the table in the little coffee shop, he felt a small bubble of hope expand within him.</p><p>"Yeah," he smiled.  "I'll be okay, Maggie.  I've found my journalistic lodestar.  And she's believed in me from the start."</p><p>Maggie's eyes crinkled into a smile, and she held up her teacup.</p><p>"Well, here's to the truth," she said, and Olly clinked his own teacup against hers in a quiet salute.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For anyone who still finds David Cameron's post-Brexit referendum <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Gz6mZYxS0A">departing ditty</a> as bizarre and hilarious and tragic as I do, I offer you an upgrade to a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhyORjJ00Rk">fabulous fantasia</a> on that four-note theme, which some genius apparently wrote within 24 hours of the event.</p><p>Also, to anyone who questions whether a pub quiz in the UK would ever ask about something as totally obscure as who Nixon's Chief of Staff circa Watergate was, I once was at a pub quiz in London that asked what Jimmy Carter's pre-presidential career was (and got it right, although I'm very embarrassed to say that that was only thanks to some random joke in an episode of <em>30 Rock</em>).</p><p>Lastly, I *highly* recommend <em>All the President's Men</em> to anyone who hasn't read/watched it—as well as the 2017 film <em><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nrXlY6gzTTM">The Post</a></em>, an equally interesting examination of the Pentagon Papers scandal that pretty much serves as a prequel to <em>All the President's Men</em>. My hat truly is off to all of the journalists out there who continue to try to expose the truth every day, in increasingly difficult circumstances.</p><p>UPDATE: OKAY, sorry, just one more thing, I was watching random <em>Broadchurch</em>-related things that YouTube was throwing at me (because "David Tennant" is now just a perpetual category on my YouTube feed, and I have zero regrets). And <a href="https://youtu.be/BjFfPz7jehI?t=10">this</a> came up, and oh my GOD, Maggie loves her stupid journalist son so much when he's not being a total idiot. ❤️</p></blockquote></div></div>
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